


Something Right

by kellyh000



Series: 00Q fanfiction translations [6]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Character Study, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Translation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25061686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kellyh000/pseuds/kellyh000
Summary: Bond has always been making the wrong choices, until Q.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Series: 00Q fanfiction translations [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1767181
Comments: 3
Kudos: 44





	Something Right

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Something Right](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13673073) by [IrisInStrangeland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrisInStrangeland/pseuds/IrisInStrangeland). 



> This story is originally by [ IrisInStrangeland ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrisInStrangeland/pseuds/IrisInStrangeland) , thank you for letting me translate your story. Title and the lyrics in the story are from Something Right by James Morrison.

_**All the mistakes, the rough breaks** _  
_**The bad taste, the heartaches** _  
_**And getting nowhere** _

Contrary to popular belief, 007, James Bond, was not opposed to having a sense of security. Nor did he hate waking up to the same person lying next to him every morning. Actually, had people taken a closer look to the man’s resume, they’d find that he’d give up his dangerous and thrilling espionage career to jump into a warm, comfortable and ordinarily boring life almost every single time when he had the chance.  
Sometimes his lovers were in the same business, after all, only people with the same job could understand everything about this life. However, they often wanted to understand James Bond, the man behind 007, and they would realize that James Bond was not as interesting as they thought. They often think that they wear a mask for their jobs, and when they take off the mask, they would still have an ordinary life. But Bond knew better—being a spy was like being an artist; the job was your life, and you really did not have a choice.  
And he often found himself attracting danger after settling down for a normal life, and the ‘normal' part out of his life would be ripped away from him. And eventually, he would return to MI6, because at least staying in the business meant the dangers and the thrills were expected.  
Perhaps that was the reason why James Bond, more precisely, 007, would still jump into the unknown territory called ‘normal life’ at every available opportunity as if there were Sirens summoning him.  
And then he would always get hurt, physically or mentally, or maybe both.  
The truth was, nowadays he could accept medical assistance or physical therapy or psych evals without putting up a fight. He has had enough wounds, most of them enough deadly, and made him realize resisting would do no help to his recovery.   
Again, contrary to what people think.

They only had sex three times when they started the conversation. It wasn’t that they weren’t interested in each other; the truth was quite opposite, but they simply did not have enough time to do so.  
When Bond woke up the morning after they slept together for the first time, Q was already at MI6 handling 006 on a mission. For the following three months, Bond went on four missions; one of them took him a month to complete and another cost him three months in Medical.   
So, no. They did not have time for anything else—although they spent their second night together in the same bed the night Bond was released from Medical.  
It was two months later when they slept for the third time. At that moment, they have reached a mutual understanding of not discussing their relationship at all.  
But James Bond greeted Q who was making tea the morning after their third encounter, which was the first time he woke up to find Q stayed.  
A morning that belong to the mundane, and Bond could already hear the Sirens singing.  
Q, as his usual chirpy self, replied, “Morning, Double-oh Seven.”

The songs of Sirens stopped. Bond frowned.

Q raised an eyebrow at Bond’s facial expressions. “Something wrong, Double-oh Seven?”  
Given that Bond had no other references since Q and him were only together on a mission or in MI6, Bond pondered for a few seconds, trying to remember how Q addressed him during their previous nights together.  
Bond recalled how Q called him ‘agent’, ‘Bond’ and ‘God’ in bed. He glanced at Q’s mug, the kettle on the stove, and the bread in the toaster.

The Sirens begun humming their songs again.

“James,” Bond sighed, “call me ‘James’; it feels like you’re giving me orders on a mission when you call me ‘Double-oh Seven’.”  
Q’s raised eyebrows were now implying something. “Who says that I’m not,” he paused for a beat, “James?”  
It was Bond’s turn to do the same. “Then what should I call you, Q?” he put emphasis on the letter ‘Q’.  
Q rolled his eyes. “It’s a ghost now.” Q shrugged. “It doesn’t even exist anymore, both digitally and on paper. But if you must know…” He stilled for several seconds before leaning towards Bond’s ear and whispered a surprisingly normal and long name.  
When he backed away, Bond’s hand landed on his nape to anchor Q to his shoulder.  
Q looked up to him. “I like it when you call me ‘Q’.”  
Bond lowered his gaze and met his eyes for several beats. “I like calling you ‘Q’, too.” The corners of his mouth were tugged up, and he bent to kiss Q.  
Q’s name meant a lot of things. It represented a person that Bond did not know. But Q, the Q for Quartermaster, meant that he was Bond’s backup, someone who he could fully trust. He had armed Bond, he was Bond’s eyes and ears during missions and was also the one who he could talk to when the mission wasn’t heated.   
Q, who knew everything about James Bond, and to Bond, the most important thing was that he knew he could fully trust him.  
If Q wanted to betray Bond, all he had to do was to tinker his equipment or feed Bond wrong directions, and just delay a second or two during any of his missions. He wouldn’t even need to actually compromise anything. If one day, Q wanted to betray Queen and country, personally knowing how intelligent Q was , the first thing he would do would definitely be taking Bond out, and Bond has no doubts in whether he would succeed. Hence, no matter what Q calls him; may it be ‘James Bond’, ‘Double-Oh Seven’ or simply just ‘James’, it was good enough for him to call Q ‘Q’.

  
_**All the pitfalls, the brick walls** _  
_**The fuck-it-alls, the back calls** _  
_**And all the despair** _

  
Frankly, they had started out like _Pride and Prejudice_. Q thought Bond was outdated, while Bond, who thought Q was interesting during their exchange, thought Q was too young. Of course, a Quartermaster with a silver tongue and enough spine to hold himself in front a special agent was amusing, but he had no idea how things would become then. Unlike what everyone believed, Q only had IQ but no EQ. He had his quirks as a genius, but Bond had his quirks as an agent, so they were even. More or less.  
Q would tell lame jokes and while he didn’t really hold a grudge against Bond for breaking equipment all the time, he wasn’t above not using it as an weapon during an argument which he needed to win. Of course, Q knew Bond had long been ignoring all kinds of accusations, such as vandalism and property damage, but it did not stop him from complaining about it. But whenever Bond made a request, Q would give his best to fulfill his wishes.   
It was like flirting somehow, compared to the half-hearted teasing during missions, their exchange fit into the category ‘flirting’ more and more—Bond spend his time off missions in Q branch, and Q started to take Bond’s opinion into account when he was inventing new gadgets, not to mention all the bickering with sexual innuendos and underlying messages.   
At first, Bond didn’t do it on purpose, but after he realized that the Quartermaster did not mind the ‘bantering’ at all, and maybe, even enjoyed it as well, Bond started to consciously do so, and in Moneypenny’s words, they took their conversations to a whole new level “like an old, married couple”.  
Unquestionably, looking back, Bond did not know everything would lead to this moment. He was in Q’s flat, and Q’s two cats were rubbing against him affectionately. He kept two suits and three t-shirts in Q’s wardrobe, a toothbrush, and even a seat for him at the dining table. He always knew what Q had been reading before bed and all his reading schedules. He even knew that the two cats would be due for another vaccine in three weeks.   
Sometimes when Bond was not on a mission, he would stay at Q’s, and Q would gladly give him all the cat food and the task of feeding the two cats. The scent of the cat food would stick on his hand, and Bond would feel the furry animals rubbing themselves against his palm because of it.  
Q, wearing his black and white pajamas, somehow messed his hair up worse than ever. They had slept for more times than they could count now, but to Bond, Q remained just as simple and a complete mystery like when they have not had sex.   
Vesper was a mistake he made—not that Vesper herself was a mistake; she was an extraordinary and unforgettable individual. Even if Bond had not gone head over heels and retire for her, she was an exceptional woman. But choosing to fall in love and then retire to live an ordinary life was a bad mistake made by clouded judgment. It was a direct consequence from what he chose to do.  
He had always chosen an to have an ordinary life and then return to his job inevitably like there was no alternative for him.   
But it was not like that when he was with Q. Bond did not have to choose an ordinary life, after all, Q was his Quartermaster. Normally speaking, having sex with someone in the same trade would end from the mutual understanding of both parties. It was not like they could live a normal life.  
However, Q was not like his coworkers or colleagues. Bond did not have to make a choice.   
He did not choose to have sex with Q, did not choose to have sex with Q multiple times, and certainly did not choose to feed Q’s cats. He did not choose to give up his life as 007 to be with Q and have life of normalcy.  
But at the end of the day, there he was, in the bed and home of a coworker at MI6, living the ordinary life that he had chosen to have and had to throw away for countless times before.

  
_**When I go another round** _  
_**I can’t help but fight myself** _  
_**But you’re blind to all the scars** _  
_**That I can see so well** _

  
James Bond, as 007, was an open book to Q. If he wanted, he could always pull up the so-called ‘deeply buried’ files, but he never did.  
Bond once had placed the printed version of his file in his hands. Q knew, without a doubt, that Bond did not have the clearance to access his own file, let alone to take it to Q branch and present his file to Q.  
Bond did not just hand him a file; he had handed himself over to him.  
Q understood with absolute clarity that Bond was telling him he wanted Q to know everything about him, so Q opened the file, and used his precious and incomparable brain memorize every single time when 007 was ‘presumed dead’, and connect all the scars he remembered seeing to every injury.  
Bond sat beside him and watched him silently.

The trouble that came knocking was not from Bond’s past; it was from Q’s. Before Q became Bond’s Quartermaster, he was already a young, gifted hacker—of course he was, and as a prodigy who was owning the dark web before disappearing without a trace, he was bound to have unwanted ‘followers’.  
Hence, Bond had a ‘normal’ day of shooting Q’s stalker and rescue Q from a kidnapping while dismantling one of the biggest auction sites on the dark web along the way.  
After debriefing, Bond took Q, who was turning his tea in his hands anxiously outside M’s office, home, and sat him on the sofa. He turned on the heater, let hot water fill the tub, took a hot towel and sat beside Q to clean Q’s face.  
“I can manage it myself…” Q muttered without really protesting. He was exhausted, after all.  
“Go take a bath.” Bond wiped the blood and the dust off his jaw with great care. “The doctors did say you’re fine, but you’ve got a psych eval in two days. Trust me, you do not want to be labeled as ‘unfit for active duty’.”   
Bond set the towel down and took off Q’s glasses. He tilted Q’s jaw up with one finger and studied him intensely for a few moments before continuing, “that’s why we should talk first.”   
Q glared at him. “Talk about what?”  
“Your past, if you’re willing,” Bond paused for a few beats, and his finger flexed a bit. “or the fact that I just killed someone right before your eyes.”  
Q sighed and cupped Bond’s face. “Bond, I’m your Quartermaster.” He saw Bond’s finger was twitching again from the corner of his eye, so he dropped one hand to pull Bond’s hand in his. “I have seen you on missions for a lot of times.”  
Bond’s gaze was fixed on Q’s finger. He flexed his right forefinger, not to pull a trigger but to hook around Q’s finger. He did not know how to tell Q that there were so many times when people knew that he was a special agent, but they would always run after getting kidnapped and seeing Bond in action. It made sense, really. Bond himself meant danger.   
Bond remembered how he handed Q his file, and how after Q read it with conscientiousness, he merely looked up to ask, “Want to go home?” as if he was not affected by what he just read at all. Maybe he really was not; seeing how Q had seen him in action and most likely had heard all kinds of stories about him. Nothing on his file was news to him.   
Q always knew who Bond really was and had always brought Bond to safety.  
“James?” Q called out softly and leaned over to kiss him. “I know who you really are.” And his sounded just like how he sounded like on the comms, “Thanks for saving me today, Double-oh Seven. The Queen and Country thank you for your service.”  
Bond met Q’s gaze and chuckled, “Good to see that you’re safe and sound, Quartermaster.”

  
_**All I ever did was get it wrong** _  
_**All I ever had was a sad song** _  
_**But I can see the proof looking in your eyes** _  
_**I must have done something right** _

  
Bond was on the verge of dying when they were about to discuss it for the first time. Bond was in a warehouse, just barely got out of his constraints. But obviously, he could not escape from a missile that was about to drop onto him and the unlucky civilians in a 10—mile radius under 60 seconds without transportation.   
Hence, as Bond, James Bond, thought that it was a decent time to mention it to Q.  
“Q,” he tried to say.  
“Shut up, I’ve got forty seconds left.”  
Bond thought of Vesper, who was drowning under water, and Q’s eyes that he had studied close-up just eighteen hours ago, so he continued, “If I don’t make it…”  
“Shut up.” Q’s voice was stern. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Bond could die this time; or maybe he was just offended by Bond, who did not trust his capabilities enough, so he assumed that he would die; or maybe it was a bit of both.  
Bond remembered he lost the shopping list along with his jacket, and that he forgot to feed the cats. “Q, I want you to know…”  
He could only hear some very aggressive typing from his earpiece.  
“I think we…”  
“Done,” Q interrupted him. “we can talk about it when you get back to London. Right now, you need to get on the car that’s heading your way and chase the bastards. I mean, I could drop the missile on their heads now, but I do feel that you should be the one who pulls the trigger. That, and they’re getting close to civilians now.”  
Bond could not help but laugh softly. “Alright, Q. Where’s my ride?”  
  
When he finally returned to London, it was like them both forgot everything, and neither of them brought it up again.  
There were moments, like right now, Bond would pet Q’s cat and watch Q cursing and causing destruction on his laptop in pajamas with a cup of tea, and Bond would want to discuss it—even though they really didn’t need to define their relationship out loud, seeing that they had already moved in together.   
Although Bond knew from his countless previous encounters that things tend to end terribly after having ‘the talk’, and he really shouldn’t indulge himself in listening to Siren’s music and he should be able to endure the side effects of having a career in espionage because he had made enough horrendous choices. However, whenever he looked at Q, he would think how he could just grasp an ordinary life that could make him forget his exciting one.  
And then Bond remembered how unwavering Q was after reading his file. Long before they had sex or their first meeting at the art gallery, Q knew he was covered in scars underneath his suits and how broken he was despite his sarcastic demeanor. And yet, Q never said anything about it. He said that Bond was the one who pulls triggers, and never questioned whether Bond was still capable of pulling it.  
Bond has not organized his thoughts into words yet, but he let the name slip from his lips anyway. “Q...”  
Q took a sip of his tea, but he would not look at him. “Five more minutes, James, I promise.”  
Oh right, they had plans for today. They need to shop for groceries and buy Christmas presents for Q’s family. They were also running out of cat food.  
Bond’s thoughts traveled from blood and gun power swiftly to tea and their normal daily life.  
Bond smiled.

Bond woke up gently and gradually, and he could feel that someone was beside him. He tensed for a second, opened his eyes, and saw Q by his side.  
A long time ago, he had heard M, his M, saying, “Home is not a place, it’s a feeling.” He could only agree for the first part of that sentence and had thought that he would never know whether the second part was true then. But at this moment, he understood completely.  
It did not matter; the ceiling of Q’s flat, his flat or some hotel all looked the same. The only difference was whether Q was beside him.  
Whether Q was beside him made all the difference.

Bond propped himself up on one elbow and observed the mess of black hair on the pillows, and tugged the corners of his lips up. He leaned down to tousle Q’s hair and pressed a kiss on his temple.  
“We have the day off, James, go back to sleep.” Q muttered.  
Although Bond still had a lot on his mind that he wanted to say, he laid back, next to Q.  
The whole world could wait for all he cared because they have the day off.

  
_**Cause if I’m really such fool** _  
_**How come I’m the one lying next to you** _  
_**It’s in your touch when you hold me tight** _  
_**That I must have done something right** _

  
—END—


End file.
